Dani Erickson’s story, DEMON DAZE, continues in this 4th of six installments.  I hope you enjoy Dani’s continuing adventure and I look forward to your comments.

DEMON DAZE

by Deb Logan

 Seventh-Seventh

THE NEXT MORNING I hitched a ride downtown with Jamie. That sounds a lot more exciting than it was. Downtown Longmont was a nicely renovated street of Mom and Pop stores, but most of the action was on the west edge of town at the mall. However, the piece of paper Warwick James had slipped me the day before specified a Main Street address, so that’s where I headed.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Jamie asked for about the forty-fourth time. “Maybe I should stay with you.”

“Jamie, please. Do you think Mom would’ve let me out of the house if there was anything to worry about?” That stopped him. Mom was one of those old-fashioned women whose career was home and family. Nothing slipped past her where her children were concerned.

“Okay. You win. I’ll pick you up in front of Perks A Plenty at noon. Don’t be late.”

I slammed the car door, leaned back in the open window, and blew him a kiss. “Not to worry. I’ll be there.”

He shook his head, waved me off the car, and pulled away from the curb.

I glanced at the slip of paper and strode south down the wide sidewalk. The address was about a block south of the renovated portion of Main Street. Not yet to the train tracks, but beyond the well-groomed shopping district. I halted in front of what appeared to be an abandoned storefront. Wide display windows covered with brown paper stared back at me. Chipped white paint above and below the windows shouted the building’s need for repair. A small, hand-lettered placard announced a budding business:

Coming Soon!
Longmont’s Own Martial Arts Academy.
Classes Enrolling Now!

I shivered, but reached for the doorknob. What choice did I have? Warwick James had promised to explain things, and I desperately wanted information. I hadn’t seen any more monsters, but my newly acquired weird-o-meter told me they were still there, lurking just beyond my field of vision. I wanted them gone. I didn’t want to know that the monster under the bed was real or that his cousin really was hiding in the closet.

Pushing open the door, I stepped into a large, dimly lit room. My footsteps rang against ancient linoleum floors and echoed off walls in need of a fresh coat of paint. The paper-covered windows washed the room with a diffused amber glow, causing the glare of an electric bulb from a half-open door in the back wall to stand out like a flashing neon sign.

“Hello. Is anyone here? Mr. James?” I listened as the echoes of my voice died away. No response. Much as I wanted answers, my sense of self-preservation refused to allow me to walk to the back of the room and step into that well-lit doorway. I turned toward the front door. Warwick James had found me once; he could find me again.

“I’m glad you came, Miss Erickson.”

I nearly gave myself whiplash, jumping and turning in a less than smooth movement. Warwick James stood just a few feet from me. How had he gotten so close so fast? I frowned and studied the strange man who had appeared out of nowhere to release me from yesterday’s spasm. Tall, trim, with good muscle tone. Definitely not a guy who lived on pizza and beer. Short brown hair and neatly trimmed mustache and beard, his blue-green eyes sparkled with humor. All in all, a good-looking guy, if you’re interested in middle-aged men. I’m not.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know your family well, Miss Erickson.” He raised an eyebrow and waved an arm in the direction of the back room. “Would you join me in the back? We can sit down and discuss this in more comfort there.”

“No thanks. I’d prefer to stay near the door.” I glanced over my shoulder, gauging the distance to the sidewalk outside. Not far. I could sprint it easily. Exit plan decided, I turned back to Mr. James. “How do you know my family? I’ve never seen you before.”

“As you wish,” he said with a shrug, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You misunderstand. I said I know your family well. I didn’t say I was a family friend or even an acquaintance. You see, Miss Erickson, yesterday was the first time I’ve ever spoken to a member of your family, though I’ve been studying them for years.”

A shiver ran down my spine and I backed a step closer to the front door.

“Please don’t run away. You need to understand what’s happening to you and why.”

“So get to the point,” I said continuing back until the doorknob was within easy reach. To my immense relief, Warwick James remained in the middle of the room.

“You had, shall we say, visions, yesterday. You saw things that can’t possibly exist. Things no one else in your family saw. Am I correct?”

I nodded.

“That ability is the reason I’ve been observing your family. I’ve been watching, waiting for your power to manifest.”

Silence descended on the room. A heartbeat, two … fifteen or twenty passed. Neither of us spoke. Finally, when the pressure of words waiting to be released was palpable, I caved.

“You were watching … me?”

“Not at first. Your father’s family first drew our attention. Thirteen children is uncommon in this day and age. The stage was set, the potential for your ability to manifest existed. So we waited, checking back each year. Noting new members, new births. Updating the genealogical records. Do you know what we were waiting for?”

My shoulders relaxed, the knot in my stomach eased, and I snorted. “Don’t tell me. You’re one of those ‘seventh son of a seventh son’ fanatics. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but one: I’m a girl; two: you’ve got the wrong branch of the family. Uncle Gus is the seventh son, and unfortunately for you, he and Aunt Ellen can’t have kids.”

The jerk had the nerve to smile.

“I’m not disappointed Miss Erickson, not in the least. Your family’s understanding of the ability is incomplete. Yes, a seventh-seventh is required, but gender is not an issue. We were never interested in your Uncle Gus — though we were amused by your family’s delight in producing a seventh son. Your father was always the object of our study.”

I jumped and grabbed the doorknob for support. “My father?”

“Yes. Your father. The seventh child in his family. Only the fifth son, but the seventh child. And you, Miss Erickson, what does that make you?”

I swallowed and tried to speak, but my tongue felt swollen and the inside of my mouth was too dry to function.

He nodded. “That’s right. You, Dani Heleen Erickson, are the seventh child of a seventh child. You are the hereditary Demon Hunter.”

*~*~*

Thanks for reading! Part 5 will be posted on 7/22/15.

Can’t wait to find out what happens? Demon Daze is available online:
Buy Now: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords

Dani Erickson’s story, DEMON DAZE, continues in this 3rd of six installments.  I hope you enjoy Dani’s continuing adventure and I look forward to your comments.

DEMON DAZE

by Deb Logan

 Awakening

BOULDER RESERVOIR SPARKLED in the afternoon sun, inviting the people on shore to step into its cool water. Our extended family’s annual end of the summer bash was underway. Partly my birthday party, partly an excuse to barbecue, swim, and laze in the sun before everyone went back to school. And I do mean everyone. Several of Dad’s brothers and sisters were teachers, everything from preschool to university professors, but not Dad. My dad was an architect, a partner at one of Boulder’s most prestigious firms. Mountain lodges designed to withstand Rocky Mountain snow loads were his specialty. Too bad we lived down on the flats.

One of the great things about family gatherings was that they grounded me in reality. Sometimes being the youngest of seven weighed on me. I mean, none of my friends came from such humongous families. Two, three, even four kids, that was normal, but seven? What were Mom and Dad thinking? Then we’d have a family gathering and I’d realize that in Dad’s world, a family of seven kids was kind of minimalistic. Dad fell right smack in the middle of thirteen — seven boys and six girls. Now that’s a family!

Anyhow, I was lazing under a tree with a couple of my cousins, having had enough sugar and exercise for my lifetime, when my vision went wonky. Everything kind of twisted and blurred. I rubbed my forehead, blinked a few times, and focused on Jamie. My youngest brother — who was still three years my senior — was entertaining some of the younger boys by walking on his hands. I could see him, right down to the goofy grin on his face, but he was encased in a deep purple haze.

I blinked again and shifted my gaze to Mike. The doctor-in-training sprawled in a lawn chair a few yards away, a cell phone held to his ear and surrounded by a pale blue fog. Though the hand touching the phone glowed lime green. I closed my eyes and stretched out on the tartan picnic blanket.

I’d obviously had too much sun. A few minutes’ rest would put me right as rain.

I could say something to Mom, but who wanted to be treated like an invalid on her birthday? Certainly not me! Sure, fourteen wasn’t a big deal. I wouldn’t be getting my driver’s license or even a learner’s permit, but still … a birthday is a birthday. You take your celebrations where you find them. Especially when you’re the youngest of seven, and the only girl.

“What’s wrong, squirt? You look a little green.”

I squinted up to find Jamie peering at me. He knelt beside me, looking all buff and tan from a summer of lifeguarding at the local pool, but he was still covered in that weird purple haze which was quickly modifying to a rich blue. Actually looked quite good with his ice-blue eyes and sun-bleached chestnut hair.

“Gee, thanks!” the corners of my mouth twitched, but it was hard to smile when your brother looked like he’d been cocooned in blue silk. “It’s nothing. Something’s weird with my eyes. Stuff is … hazy.”

Jamie scowled. He turned to Mike. “Hey, lover-boy! Get off the phone and come over here. Something’s wrong with Dani.”

Mike turned, eyes dark and irritable, ready to yell at Jamie … and stopped. His jaw slackened and his eyes widened. He mumbled a few words, snapped the phone shut, and sprinted to my side.

“What’s wrong, Dani? Did you eat something bad?” Mike scrutinized my face, his eyes narrowing. Cool fingers encircled my wrist as the physician-to-be assessed his little sister. He dropped my hand and scowled. “Tell me you’re not stupid enough to be messing with drugs!”

“Wha-” That was the extent of my snappy comeback. My jaw locked and no further sound passed my lips.

My heart slammed against my ribcage like a passenger in a speeding car that had braked too suddenly. Panic clawed at my throat, but not a sound escaped. I was locked inside my own skull looking at everyone through silky gauze layers. Could Mike be right? Had someone drugged my potato salad?

“MOM!” Jamie scrambled to his feet and fled to the pavilion on the other side of the park.

Mike moved into Jamie’s position, a worried frown replacing the scowl. His pale blue fog deepened to purple and pulsed in a rapid beat. The visual assault dizzied me, so I closed my eyes again. At least my eyelids still obeyed.

A flurry of voices rode the wind off the reservoir, alerting me to the imminent arrival of my parents, buoyed by a wave of aunts and uncles. With the familiar chatter of family came a decidedly unfamiliar sensation: awareness. Each person who approached was heralded by a distinct bubble pushing against the boundary of my conscious mind. Though my eyes remained closed, I could identify each and every person in our quadrant of the park. I knew exactly where they stood in relation to me, could judge their level of agitation by the color of the bubble. Worse yet, other blips appeared on my psychedelic radar. Not the comfortable, concerned, well-rounded bubbles of my extended family, but twisted, dark blips that oozed like malignant wounds.

My eyes popped open. Each family member stood right where I expected, but the blips weren’t visible. No. That wasn’t true. The air shimmered where the blips should be.

“What is it, Dani?” asked Mom, her voice soft and soothing. She slipped to the ground beside me and searched my face with a concerned gaze. “Tell me where it hurts.”

A shimmer intensified and I shifted my gaze from Mom to the anomaly. Maybe if I squinted…

A creature sprang into existence and eyed me with curiosity.

I recoiled, horrified by its scaly maroon skin, long filthy claws, and sharp, protruding teeth. The vaguely humanoid being stood erect and wore a torn, brown tunic. Its eyes, black and dangerous, glittered with intelligence, and something else — some dark amusement.

I shuddered and closed my eyes, but my awareness only heightened. More blips accumulated, surrounding my family. Drawn like sharks to blood. But what drew them? And why could I see them when my family obviously couldn’t?

“She started to say something,” Mike explained, “then, I don’t know. It’s like she seized. I think we should call an ambulance. I don’t want to move her, but she needs help.”

Mom stroked my hair and murmured reassurances while my brain scrambled to make sense of the unbelievable. What was happening to me?

A new bubble converged upon my family and drifted to my side, a shining white beacon tinged with radiant gold. Warmth and comfort emanated from the newcomer.

“Excuse me,” the being said in a voice filled with authority. “May I have a look at her?”

My family drew back, except for Mom. The stranger laid cool hands on my head, one covering my forehead, the other supporting the nape of my neck. “Relax, child. Don’t fight it,” he murmured. “Acceptance is the key. I can and will explain, but not now. Right now, you must accept the unacceptable.”

He continued to cradle my head and energy poured through my mind. I haven’t got a clue how to explain what happened, but synapses fired, my emotions sorted, my understanding cleared, and my body relaxed. I opened my eyes and stared into the face of the man who had promised to explain my destiny to me. Blue-green eyes stared back at me from a hard, chiseled face. A mustache and short, well-trimmed beard provided the only softening to the planes of his face.

He released me, extended his hand, and helped me sit up. I shivered in the late afternoon heat and glanced from family member to family member. “I’m okay now.”

A collective sigh of relief whispered through the ranks, but I knew the next indrawn breath would release a barrage of questions. My self-proclaimed mentor forestalled them.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said, rubbing his hands together and backing away from the tartan blanket. “Just a bit too much sun and exercise. Happens all the time around here.”

Jamie frowned and glanced at me, eyebrows lifted. My lifeguard brother knew something was up.

I shook my head, and he shrugged. We’d talk later.

Dad was shaking the man’s hand. “I don’t know what you did, but thank you, Mister…”

“James. Warwick James, but everyone calls me Wick. Don’t think a thing of it, sir. I’m just glad I could be of service.” He looked at me, and our gazes locked. He smiled, and I nodded and closed my fist around the slip of paper he’d palmed me when he helped me sit up.

I was still aware of creatures that shouldn’t exist, but the members of my family were no longer shrouded in colored fog. Whatever was happening, I could deal with the remnants for the rest of the day, but tomorrow Mr. Warwick James and I were going to have a come-to-Jesus meeting.

*~*~*

Thanks for reading! Part 4 will be posted on 7/8/15.

Can’t wait to find out what happens? Demon Daze is available online:
Buy Now: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords

[…] ← Free Fiction Wednesday: DEMON DAZE – part 1 […]

Dani Erickson’s story, DEMON DAZE, continues in this 2nd of six installments.  (Part One is here, if you need to catch up ) I hope you enjoy Dani’s continuing adventure and I look forward to your comments.

DEMON DAZE

by Deb Logan

 The Big Day Begins

FISTS POUNDING ON MY BEDROOM DOOR startled me awake. I lunged upright, glanced wildly around the room, and managed to comprehend the chorus of, “Wake up, Birthday Girl!” that echoed from the hall.

Brothers! You gotta love ‘em. It’s the law; at least it is in my family. From the sound reverberating through my skull all six of them must have come home for the big celebration. Flattering…except it meant I’d have to spend my big day pretending I was Allie.

I grabbed a shoe from the floor and hurled it at the already besieged door. “All right, already. I’m up! Give it a rest.”

Chortles sounded on the far side of the barrier, followed by a deeper bass shushing.

“Get a move on, Kitten,” Mike commanded. The eldest of seven and a medical student to boot, Mike was accustomed to seizing control of a situation. “Mom’s making French toast for breakfast. If these guys devour it all before you make it downstairs, she’ll be in a mood all day.”

I sprang from bed, leaped the intervening distance, and jerked the door open. Half a dozen boys in various states of early morning dishevelment blocked my path, while the sweet scent of maple syrup and frying bacon wafted through the air. “Outta my way!” I bellowed, elbowing my way into the hall. “No one’s eating my birthday breakfast.”

A race for the sugar erupted. We scrambled across the hall and down the stairs, barely making it to the kitchen with everyone still on their feet.

“Halt!” Dad’s shout brought us all to attention, a ragged line of teens and twenty-somethings with straight backs and squared shoulders.

“Happy birthday, Dani,” said Mom, turning from the griddle with a spatula in her hand. “Now, if all of you would be so kind as to march back up the stairs, wash faces and hands, and comb your hair, we’ll have a civilized breakfast in a few minutes.”

As one, the Ericksons deflated. We turned and my brothers tromped back up the stairs.

“Dani,” called Dad, halting me in mid-step. “A moment, please.”

I turned around wondering what I could’ve done. I couldn’t be in trouble yet, I’d just woken up. Besides, it was my birthday.

“Yes, sir?”

Dad crossed the sunlit kitchen and wrapped me in a bear hug. He ruffled my still messy hair and smiled down at me. “Happy birthday, kiddo. Take your time in the bathroom. Nobody’s eating ’til you get back.”

I grinned, wriggled out of his arms and raced back upstairs. French toast! And the guys had to wait for me. Maybe I should take my time. Get dressed. Fix my hair. Would make-up be too over the top? I sniffed again, savoring the delicious aromas of non-store-bought delicacies. Nah. Not worth the wait. My mouth watered for French toast NOW!

 *~*~*

Thanks for reading! Part 3 will be posted on 6/24/15.

Can’t wait to find out what happens? Demon Daze is available online:
Buy Now: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords

I’d like to introduce you to Dani Erickson, a normal teenage girl with a not-so-normal heritage. I’ll be posting Dani’s initial story, DEMON DAZE, in six installments to be posted on Wednesdays of every other week until the story is complete.  I hope you enjoy meeting Dani and I look forward to your comments.

DEMON DAZE

by Deb Logan

 Fortune Teller…

A SHIVER OF ANTICIPATION raced along my spine as Allie and I ducked inside the fortune-teller’s tent. My parents didn’t approve of psychic nonsense, but they’d allowed me to come to the carnival with Allie’s family as a pre-birthday treat. The even bigger treat? Not a single one of my older brothers was tailing me. If the Erickson boys were at the carnival, they were enjoying their own night out, not watching over their baby sister.

Turning fourteen had its advantages!

The inside of the tent lived up to all my expectations. A thick Turkish rug covered the brittle, brown August grass and swags of colorful silk festooned the sidewalls and ceiling, ropes of twinkling LED lights camouflaged within the folds. A small table draped in blood-red velvet sat in the center of the small enclosure. A single intricately carved high-backed chair occupied the far side, while two folding chairs waited for us.

Allie glanced at me as if seeking reassurance. The corners of her lips curved in a timid smile and her eyes widened. “Are you sure we want to do this?”

I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the folding chairs. “This was your idea, remember? We’re here. We’re not backing out.” I plopped onto a chair and waited. Allie lit on the very edge of hers, muscles tensed for flight.

A figure disengaged from the draping silk and approached the carved chair.

“I am Madame Simone. Welcome to my den of enlightenment. This place is hallowed, serving as a threshold to the great beyond.”

The olive-skinned woman was swathed from head to toe in a rainbow of silk. Small golden discs dangled from her headdress, gracing her forehead and calling attention to dark, liquid eyes. She studied my best friend for a moment and then turned her attention to me.

“You have come at an auspicious moment,” she said, and lowered herself gracefully into the high-backed chair. Leaning forward, she placed long-fingered hands upon the velvet tablecloth. “Tell me what you seek.”

Allie uttered a nervous squeak and huddled back in her chair, moving as far from the fortune-teller as possible without jumping and running.

I glanced at Allie and then faced the psychic. “Aren’t you supposed to tell us what we need to know?” I don’t like people intimidating my friends.

“What you need to know,” the woman murmured, holding my gaze and refusing to allow my escape. “Are you sure you’re ready for that? Wouldn’t you rather I told you silly tidbits about boys and kisses and who to dance with at homecoming?”

I straightened my shoulders, but didn’t look away. Her sarcastic tone bugged me. Allie and I might be young, but we were paying for this woman’s time.

“Look, just do your thing, okay? We paid for a reading, so read.”

Madame Simone’s smile could’ve frozen Boulder Reservoir. “As you wish.” She inclined her head, breaking our eye-lock, and turned to Allie, “Your hand, my dear.”

Allie placed her right hand in Madame Simone’s left and shuddered slightly when the woman traced the lines in Allie’s palm with a perfectly manicured nail.

“I see a long life if you sever your relationship with dangerous friends,” the psychic said, spearing me with a pointed glance. “You will dance on the stage to the acclaim of millions. Beware the company of demons.”

Allie snatched her hand back the moment Madame Simone released it and cradled it to her chest.

The fortune-teller cocked an eyebrow at me and held out her hand.

Time slowed. My heart thumped wildly, but the air had thickened, making it hard to breathe. Something moved just beyond my peripheral vision, and a desperate desire to flee seized my soul.

And then the moment passed and everything snapped back to normal. I sat in a stuffy little tent with too many silk drapes and a middle-aged woman who looked at me expectantly.

“Sure. Whatever.” I placed my hand in hers…and a jolt like electricity convinced me I’d made a huge mistake. My hand jerked reflexively, but she held on tight and smiled an enigmatic little grin.

“As I suspected,” she murmured, drawing her index finger along my palm and studying the lines like they spelled minuscule words. “You are the seventh … the child of a seventh … and you stand at the cusp.”

She closed her eyes and held my hand open between both of hers. A sharp intake of breath and her eyes widened and sought mine. Fear glazed her eyes.

“Tomorrow a great burden will descend upon you. Have a care lest it crush you…and all who care for you.”

With that happy thought she released my hand, sprang from her chair and melted back into the shadows.

“That’s it?” I yelled after her. “Whatever happened to you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger?”

Anger mixed with a heavy helping of fear and roiled in my stomach. I wanted to hit someone. Instead, I grabbed Allie’s hand and the two of us sprinted from the tent.

“What a load of …”

“Hush, Dani,” Allie said, glancing over her shoulder. “Let’s go find my folks.”

I huffed, but allowed my pretty little ballerina of a buddy to drag me into the throng of people wandering the midway. Alejandra Chavez had been my best friend since preschool. She was everything I’d ever wanted to be; everything my whole family still hoped I’d become. Dainty, graceful, feminine to the core, Allie was a lady, in all the best senses of the word. She played the piano with finesse and danced like a rose petal on a summer breeze. Of course, grace came more easily to her five-feet-two-inch frame than it did to my towering five-feet-ten-inches. At least, that’s how I consoled myself. Whatever my talents were, I’d yet to discover them. I just kind of bobbed along in Allie’s wake, never quite measuring up to her shining example.

She pulled to a stop when we spotted her parents tossing rings over bottles at a nearby booth. “Okay. Listen, we don’t want to upset Mom and Dad, so let’s pretend we never went in that psycho’s tent.”

I inhaled lungfuls of crisp night air, doing my best to calm my breathing and make my sprinting heart slow to a peaceful crawl. Alarmed parents would only ensure a quick trip home. Besides, there were still plenty of rides and games to explore that didn’t involve weird middle-aged women wrapped in silk.

“Gotcha.” I nodded. “Everything is peachy. We’re having a grand time.”

Allie stared at me, a small frown creasing her flawless brow. “Are you alright, Dani? She didn’t scare you, did she?”

“Of course not,” I scoffed, wishing my stomach agreed. “Tomorrow’s my birthday. What kind of great burden hits someone on her fourteenth birthday? I mean, it’s not like I’m turning sixteen and Dad’s gonna give me a car I could crash. Get real.”

Allie smiled a knowing little smile, one that said she saw right through my bravado. She patted my arm and said, “I knew you’d be okay with it. Let’s see if we can help Dad win that stuffed tiger for Mom.”

I grinned and we joined Mr. and Mrs. Chavez, but I had to force myself not to turn around and study the crowd. Someone was watching us. I could feel their focus … and my skin tingled in response.

*~*~*

Thanks for reading! Part 2 will be posted on 6/10/15.

Can’t wait to find out what happens? Demon Daze is available online:
Buy Now: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords

I’ve very pleased to announce that several of my stories will be featured in upcoming FICTION RIVER anthologies!

First up:

“Like a Lamb” by Debbie Mumford will be featured in FICTION RIVER: Hidden In Crime – edited by Kristine Kathryn Rusch.

Release date: November 2015

Next:

“Terrors” by Deb Logan will be featured in FICTION RIVER: Sparks – edited by Rebecca Moesta.

Release date: January 2016

Finally:

“Egg Thief” by Debbie Mumford will be featured in FICTION RIVER: Pulse Pounders: Adrenaline – edited by Kevin J. Anderson.

Release date: November 2016

I’ll have updates as the anthologies release!

TALES OF TOMORROW
by Debbie Mumford
Audience: Science Fiction | Short Story Collection

From science fiction to the edge of fantasy, this collection of five short stories includes, two “right around the corner” tales (“Wakinyan’s Valley” and “Beneath and Beyond”), one far flung space odyssey (“Astromancer”), and two stories of future families (“Izzie” and “Spinning”).

Buy Now: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords

My old west train robbery short story, “Incident on the High Line” has been published at Spinetingler Magazine! Check it out today

I’m proud to announce that WDM Publishing has released a new SPUN YARNS collection: GHOSTS AND GHOULIES! Just in time for Halloween, too

GHOSTS AND GHOULIES
by Deb Logan
Audience: Juvenile  | Short Story Collection

Spooky, supernatural stories for younger readers. This collection of five short stories includes a ghost story (“Lilah’s Ghost”), two urban fantasy tales (“Demon Daze” and “School Daze”), and two stories of dragons and faeries (“Deirdre’s Dragon” and “Lexie’s Choice”).

Ghosts and Ghoulies and Dragons, Oh My!

Electronic Edition Publication Date: October 2014
Buy Now: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords

My friend Jay Lake passed away this morning at 5:45.

He went into Hospice care last week. His significant other, Lisa Costello, continued to update the world through Facebook and his blog until the final entry early this morning.

This quote from Lisa, written a few days ago, brought tears to my eyes:

His energy level is extremely low, and visitors drain him terribly. I think it is this right now that is breaking my heart the most, how this most social and gregarious of men has been drained to the point where a simple conversation is exhausting.

I think that may be the best description of Jay I’ve ever heard: The most social and gregarious of men.

I met Jay through Wordos. For well over a year, I sat at the table with him every Tuesday night. His work (of which I’m not a true fan … I often fell back on the mantra, “Sorry. I’m not your reader.”) and his critique of my early efforts made a huge impact on my growth as a writer and the marketability of my work. Jay was the first person to suggest that I might want to try writing romance, that my style and voice felt like a natural fit for that genre … at least to him.

Goodbye, my friend. You will be missed.

While the story remains the same, my paranormal romance, SECOND SIGHT, has had a facelift! Awesome new cover coupled with updated interior design promise a more enjoyable reading experience

Change is one of those catch-22 elements. We all dislike it, but we all need it.

Without its stimulation we settle into cozy habits, establish comfort zones, and fight tooth-and-toenail to stay inside them…despite the fact that comfort zones rapidly disintegrate into ruts. And NO ONE wants to admit they’re in a rut.

The fact is, much as change disturbs us, it’s a necessary part of life. Without change we fall into stagnation, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to go there.

Why am I blathering on about change? I recently spent a little over a week with my daughter and her family watching them step into the deep end of a major life change. I flew across the continental USA to stay with my preschool grandkids so that my daughter could accompany her husband to a job fair specifically designed for military officers who are exiting the service.

Lots of change in store for that young family, but when they emerge from the turmoil of indecision, the upheaval of moving who-knows-where, they’ll have a new stability, a new family dynamic. Daddy will not be missing from the little ones’ lives for months at a time. It will be a good change, but at the moment, their lives are filled with anxiety and the discomfort that change brings.

Closer to home, I’ve been thinking about my experiences in an anthology workshop I attended in late February. Everyone who participated had the opportunity to submit stories for six anthologies. Each story had to be written specifically for the workshop, and we were given limited time to create them (about a week per story). This was to ensure that we didn’t have time to edit out what makes our stories uniquely our own, that the editors experienced our authentic voices.

Six stories in six weeks in six different genres. It was a frightening experience, but at the same time, exhilarating. Five of the genres were ones I’ve never attempted to write – talk about blasting past your comfort zone! The last one was young adult. Ahhh! At last…my genre.

I only sold one of the stories. You guessed it: the YA. My voice and skills are established there. I know what I’m doing.

Was it worth it to move out of my comfort zone and attempt to write in those unfamiliar genres? You bet! I received feedback on each of those stories from six professional editors. I learned an incredible amount about my own strengths and weaknesses, and, even though those stories weren’t accepted for these particular anthologies, I discovered that I have a flair for writing mysteries and steampunk Thrillers and gambling fiction — not so much, but at least I know the basics of where I fell down.

Change can be unsettling, even downright uncomfortable, but when you emerge on the other side you discover new strengths and gain additional knowledge that will inform the rest of your life. So let me encourage you to step beyond your comfort zone every now and then. After all, you don’t want to let those ruts get so deep you can’t even peer over the top.

Remember: Change is good!

Latest Announcement from my Publisher:

WDM Publishing is proud to announce the creation of a new Imprint: Spun Yarns.

Spun Yarns will feature collections of short stories, from flash fiction to romance to science fiction. When you see “Spun Yarns” on the cover, you can expect quality short fiction.

Our first two Spun Yarns titles are:

LOVE IN A FLASH
by Debbie Mumford
Audience: Romance | Sweet | Short Stories

A collection of romantic Flash fiction stories—complete tales told in less than a thousand words. Each of these seven jewels presents the exhilaration of budding romance. Experience the thrill of discovery with Love in a Flash!

Buy Now: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords

And…

RED’S MAGICK
by Debbie Mumford
Audience: Fantasy Romance | Adult | Short Stories

A collection of romantic short stories chronicling the adventures of an amorous faery imprisoned in a pane of ancient Irish glass. The realm of Tuatha de Danaan may be free of Red’s magicks, but the humans who come in contact with his glass prison find themselves in extremely compromising situations.

These stories are for mature readers due to adult content.

Buy Now: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo |  Smashwords

Another of my ebooks has received a facelift…and a new interior design. The story remains the same, but HER HIGHLAND LAIRD has a whole new look *Yay*

Today I’m pleased to introduce you to one of my favorite indie writers…who also happens to be one of my very best *real life* friends: Juliet Nordeen. Julie is a wonderful writer, a fabulous friend, and all-around awesome person. Take it away, Julie!

I am a child of the 80s who misses big hair, anthemic rock’n’roll songs, and The Muppets. I have been blessed with a kind father, a high-school sweetheart worth marrying, and more good friends than I ever hoped for. For fun I hang out with canines, design and make quilts, and I bake anything with a recipe containing flour and sugar…and then run my butt off at the gym so I don’t wind up carrying the calories around for the rest of my life. My writing has been published in a couple of obscure websites and anthologies to some very kind words from both readers and professional “book-tearer-aparters,” also known as critics. I’ve decided on the self-publishing route for my work because I don’t fit so well into the established paths of life. And I’m impatient.

Why did you become an author? Was it a childhood dream?
In grade school I did dream of becoming an author. In Mrs. Hepler’s fifth grade class I won a Young Authors classroom contest. I wrote “the best short story” for which I was to be awarded a day in the city with real writers, learning about the whole process of writing and publishing books. Unfortunately, for reasons probably having to do with inadequate parental support, I got bumped from that excursion and that was the beginning of being derailed from my dream.

My detour widened when the teachers at my middle school decided that I had great talents in math and science and challenged me to accelerated classes in those subjects. That lead to many tears and lots of teeth gnashing before my brain decided to get on board and make sense of things like “story problems” and “letters used inside math equations.” Though I do not regret earning a degree in Mechanical Engineering, I did whine and complain a lot during my engineering career about how I wanted to be a writer. About once a year I would vomit out the first few chapters of a book and naively (and stupidly) send those off to the biggest publishers I’d ever heard of. They were each nice enough to acknowledge me with a rejection.

Thankfully, about twelve years ago, the universe offered me an amazing opportunity to stop working for pay and learn the craft of writing. I was smart enough to see the gift and seize it. I’ve learned amazing things, met wonderful people, and made progress toward my dream.

Oh, wait…you asked why I’m an author. Silly me. That’s an easy answer. I’m an author because there’s this voice in my head, her name is ArtChi, and she keeps telling me stories…she absolutely will not shut up. And I’m so very glad about that. Also because I believe books are the best escape from reality, ever.

What’s your greatest obstacle in writing?
I would chock it up to lack of confidence. Every once in a while I get negative thoughts in my head that interfere with my ability to create work that I’d be willing to share with others. I think it happens when my Internal Editor gets too strong and muzzles ArtChi. I have to be very careful when I provide/accept critique of fiction or do actual editing-for-pay because it’s very easy for me to get caught up in “knowing the right thing,” which is very different from taking the kinds of chances that lead to the creation of stories.

I find that there’s a fine line between “Affect the Reader” which is my goal when conveying the stories ArtChi tells me, and “Don’t Throw the Reader Out of the Story” which is what my Internal Editor is trying to prevent. Some days it works out, some days it doesn’t. But on great days, the ones where someone I’ve never met says something nice about my work, I do my best to use those compliments to build the virtual cinder block walls of a small, comfy office with an imaginary locking steel door to throw my Internal Editor into…until I need to let it out to write a synopsis or marketing blurb.

What makes the world of your novel different from ours?
My novel is an Urban Fantasy, so it has an aspect of realistic magic involved. I’m not saying that there isn’t magic in our world, because I believe there is, though my story’s magic is that Faeries are real and they like to mess about in the lives of human beings. And I’m not talking about little flitty things that come and tend to the garden when you’re distracted, perhaps talking to the mailman. My Faeries are full-sized, cunning, smart, deadly, and highly addictive for any human lucky (or unlucky) enough to discover their sexual side.

What was the most exciting thing happening when you wrote your novel?
In my novel world? Okay, that’d be when my main character, Bailey Faye Michaels, discovers that she has a Faery mother and as a result, the power to speak telepathically with anyone she chooses. Lots of people at once, even, if that’s what the situation calls for. A telepathic conference call, if you will. The exciting turn for me in drafting the novel was when I realized that Bailey can use those telepathic skills to do more than communicate; she is capable of defending herself by invading and influencing the mind of dangerous folks. Telepathy as defense, pretty exciting.

If we’re talking about the real world…I’m oblivious, I was buried in the writing. *grin*

Who is your favorite Indie author?
I gotta have two here. I’m a recent fan of Rob Cornell’s and have been a long-term fan of Debbie Mumford/Deb Logan’s.

Who is your favorite traditionally published author?
I tend to go in phases. Right now I’d have to say Robert J. Sawyer. That man is a frickin’ genius. He writes hard Science Fiction novels based on fantastic premises. I just finished “Triggers” in which he explores the possibility of sharing a whole life’s memories with another human being and what that might mean if the memories you’re sharing come from the leader of the free world. I wouldn’t have gone to the same places he did with a premise like that, but that’s why I read. To take my mind places it wouldn’t go on its own.

If you could change one thing in your life, what would it be?
I would live someplace with warmer weather. And I will, someday, but for now the Pacific Northwest is home. Heck, if I wait long enough the warmer weather might just come to me. Though I suppose Global Warming won’t do anything for the tilt of the Earth’s axis, so we’ll be warmer here but still lacking daylight a few months a year.

Thanks, Julie. And thanks for the plug *grin*

And now…what you’ve all been waiting for: a look at Julie’s work!

Juliet Nordeen’s Current books:

Blue Suede Darlin’ (Bailey Michaels Book 1)

For Bailey Faye Michaels — Rockabilly drummer, fierce friend, and bedpost-notch collector — making a life-saving deal with a Faery could not have gone more sideways. Ignoring the usual Faery Godmother playbook, hauntingly beautiful Laume “rescues” the other four members of Bailey’s band, holding them hostage until Bailey completes her end of the bargain: reuniting a foster child, Hannah, with her addict father. Faeries and Faery magic complicate everything as Bailey uncovers her own ties to Faery, the destructive force of Faery-addiction, and the unyielding power of Mab, Queen of the Winter Faeries. With help from the queen’s own Winter Knight and an unexpected new human love-interest, Bailey fights a battle to rescue her best friends, her phamily, that no one but her intends for her to win…

Blue Suede Darlin’ is available from:
Amazon paperback | Amazon Kindle | Nook | Kobo

*~*~*

Mom is a Dirty Word

When Lara Guthrie gets the opportunity to drive one race in the top tier of stock car racing, she thinks she’s reached the pole position of her life: a great job, a wonderful fiancé in Nate Rickert, and a real chance for a car of her own to drive. But when Lara passes out during the post-race celebration, and finds out she’s pregnant, it’s like her whole world is spinning out of control.

Mom is a Dirty Word is available from:

Amazon Kindle | Nook |  Kobo

*~*~*

Coming Soon:
Short Story: Canine Agent Rocky Arnold vs. The Evil Alliance in Fiction River 9: Fantastic Detectives (edited by Kristine Kathryn Rusch)

Moon Crowned Darlin’ (Bailey Michaels, Book 2), coming through all e-distributors in electronic and paperback in July 2014

Hooray! SORCHA and Her Children recently underwent a transformation. New ebook covers and an updated, more professional interior design! Same great stories in stunning new packages. Take a look…

What a perfect gem! Delightful story.

Merry Christmas, one and all. May the wonder of the season fill your days.

Christmas Dreams

Debbie Mumford

The mermaid on the sign beckoned to Carrie. The young woman glanced away and rubbed her eyes, determined to walk on, but her feet remained glued to the snow-dusted sidewalk. Her gaze drifted back to the mermaid.

There! She did it again. A trick of the light? Carrie sighed, yanked the door open and stepped inside. No sense fighting it; she had to know what a beckoning mermaid sold.

Christmas shopping was usually the highlight of her season, but this year the sucking sound carried all the way to China. She shied from celebration now that Frank had deserted her. A depressing vision of her ex-fiancé locked in another woman’s arms floated through her mind. She rejected the thought and turned her attention to the mermaid’s lair.

The shop’s dim interior resonated with Carrie’s gloomy mood. Moving carefully through aisles crowded with knick-knacks from a bygone era, she gazed about for other customers. As far as she could tell, not another living soul disturbed the murky quiet of the little store.

Well, she thought, at least it’s not blaring Christmas Muzak.

For the first time in her twenty-five years, Carrie faced a Christmas alone, and that fact grated enough without the constant irritation of alternately cheerful and maudlin music. She sighed again—a long, breathy exhalation filled with bitter defeat. Being depressed at Christmas sucked.

She wandered through dimly lit aisles searching…for what? Despite the indistinct lighting, she noted the fine layer of dust coating each item. Disappointed, she headed for the door. The beckoning mermaid had led her astray; this mausoleum held nothing for her.

“Perhaps I can be of service.”

Carrie wheeled to find a gnarled old man standing in the tight corner between two large displays. Since she occupied the center of the only navigable path, she wondered where he’d come from. The ancient frock coat covering his small frame looked like it belonged in a museum, the wrinkles on his face so exaggerated he might have been made up for the stage.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she said. “I’m just window shopping; not looking for anything special.”

“But the mermaid invited you in,” he said, his eyes sparkling with secret knowledge.

She jumped. “What do you mean?”

“This shop isn’t open for business—hasn’t been for years,” he answered, flicking dust from a piece of antique lace. “Yet you walked right in. She called you, didn’t she? She knows your heart.”

Carrie’s pulse pounded in her temple and her vision blurred. She refused to faint in a deserted store, alone with an obvious maniac. Carefully, she edged away, backing toward the door.

“Tell me, Miss Maxwell,” he said, his voice soft, almost crooning. “Tell me what you seek.”

The sound of her name on this strange man’s lips panicked her. Carrie turned and bolted for the door. She raced through a maze of dolls and books and lace-trimmed linens. She ran too far; the shop wasn’t that large. Confused, she stopped to get her bearings. She didn’t see the door, but she did see the gnarled little man; he waited a few paces away beside a wicker doll carriage.

He cocked his head of unkempt white hair and peered at her from beneath grizzled eyebrows.

“Don’t be frightened, Carrie. The mermaid and I, we mean you no harm.” His words gentled her, his tone calmed and reassured. “Be at ease, my child.”

Carrie relaxed, and why not? Kismet worked in odd ways. A mermaid beckoned, a wizened man guided, a treasured secret bubbled to the surface.

“Tell me what you seek, Carrie. Tell me your heart’s desire. What brought you out into winter’s harsh grasp so close to the Christ Child’s birth?”

His words cajoled…hypnotized…created a peaceful trance. Carrie fell headlong into his spell.

“I want to be loved,” she whispered. “I want a home of my own, with a husband who loves me, who’s loyal and true, and children, someday.”

Warmth spread through her body, flooded her soul with peace. Just beyond a display of hand-painted china, she could almost see the man of her dreams; a fleeting impression of a long, dark overcoat hiding a trim physique, a mischievous smile and a playful wink. She blinked, rubbed her eyes hoping to improve their focus, but when she looked again, he was gone.

The gnarled little man chuckled, reclaiming her attention. “Yes,” he said, “the mermaid always knows.”

He patted Carrie’s arm and guided her to the door, now plainly visible a few yards to her right.

“He’s waiting for you, Carrie,” he said as he opened the door. His words quivered in the blast of cold night air. “When you meet him…remember.” The door closed behind her.

Carrie roused with a convulsive shiver and blinked. She stood on the sidewalk before an abandoned store with filthy windows. The cracked and peeling sign above the door showed a bedraggled mermaid. She frowned, and wondered why she’d stopped here. Nothing to see in this grimy window.

Whatever. A sense of buoyant expectation filled her soul, her mood lighter than it had been in weeks. Frank’s desertion no longer mattered. He belonged to another existence. Let that other woman worry about the callous, disloyal jerk. Carrie deserved better.

She ambled down the sidewalk toward well-lit shops and scurrying pedestrians, her heart singing. Christmas was just a few days away, and she had gifts to buy for people she loved. She strolled past a brightly lit window displaying a colorful electric train chugging around a snow-capped mountain. The detail of the scene delighted her, but not enough to stop her forward motion. She walked straight into an unsuspecting man.

“Excuse me,” she cried, as he dropped his packages to catch her arms and hold her steady on her feet. “I’m so sorry!”

“Not a problem,” he replied in a firm, deep voice. “Nothing breakable in those bags.” He bent to retrieve his packages, his long, wool overcoat brushing the snowy sidewalk.

When he straightened, Carrie gazed up into sea-blue eyes set in a rugged face framed by snow-dusted dark hair.

He smiled and winked.

…And memory flooded Carrie’s soul.

Radiant warmth buoyed her as she held out her hand to the man of her dreams. “I’m Carrie Maxwell,” she said, suppressing a nervous giggle. “Tell me, have you met any mermaids recently?”

*~*~*

“Christmas Dreams” copyright © 2013 by Debbie Mumford

Deb Logan’s latest short story, Lexie’s Choice, has been released. If you’ve read Faery Unexpected, then you already know Lexie. She’s Claire Murray’s best friend!

LEXIE’S CHOICE
by Deb Logan
Audience: YA | Faeries | Short Story

Prom is just around the corner, but Lexie has mixed emotions. The guy of her dreams has issued the invitation, but she can’t afford the kind of dress that makes her drool. Fortunately, her best friend is a faery princess. No. Really. Claire is an honest-to-goodness faery princess with flower faeries at her command. The girls want gorgeous prom dresses? No problem! The flower faeries can deliver. Unfortunately, nothing in Faery is what it seems, and prom dresses for mortal friends carry a hefty price tag. Will Lexie earn her dream dress? The outcome is totally in her hands. Too bad no one told her she’s on trial…

Electronic Edition Publication Date: August 2013
Buy Now: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords

I’m a firm believer in goal setting for my writing. How can you know whether or not you’ve arrived if you don’t have a destination in mind? Consequently, the final week of every year is devoted to reviewing last year’s goals and setting new ones for the coming year.

I’m always over ambitious, and for some, that would be a downer, but not for me. I mean, why be safe and set goals I won’t have to stretch for? I figure if I don’t aim high, I’ll never know if I can soar. I didn’t meet all of my 2012 goals, but I met enough that I’m very pleased with my progress. 2012 has been a very good year. I expect 2013 to be even better!

This year, I’ve discovered a new guide to my goal planning. Dean Wesley Smith is doing a blog series on getting ready for the new year. He starts with a retrospective of publishing changes in 2012 and then moves into goal planning, so be sure to look at the first three posts that he references. I’m currently taking an online class from Dean and learning a ton about publishing and my own strengths and deficits, so taking his advice is a foregone conclusion for me at the moment.

For 2013 I’m planning to follow Heinlein’s Rules as closely as I can:

1. You must WRITE.
2. You must FINISH what you write.
3. You must NOT REWRITE unless to editorial demand. (That means an editor who’s paying you, not one you hire. Fixing typos / mistakes is acceptable.)
4. You must put your work on the MARKET.
5. You must LEAVE your work on the market.

I’m also setting a word-count goal: 3,000 words/week for 50 weeks, totaling 150,000 words for the year. Dean suggested 250,000 words for the year, but 150,000 will be enough of a stretch for me! That’s NEW words, by the way. He’s not counting revision and editing work (which I shouldn’t be doing since it violates Rule #3), nor time spent on covers and layout and publishing work.

So, depending on how my year works out, I should have a new novel and quite a few short stories, or perhaps two new novels by the end of 2013!

Onward and Upward!!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Christmas weekend has arrived and I’m thrilled to be home from the office for several consecutive days.

DRAGONS’ FLIGHT is with my editor, and initial reports are good My first readers are also looking it over and giving me their thoughts. So far, so good! Looking forward to gathering all the information, letting it stew for a few days, and then making final decisions on the manuscript. Hopefully, the book will be ready for publication sometime in January!

I’m currently taking an online class with Dean Wesley Smith and thoroughly enjoying it! He’s got a lot of insight into this business to share, and I’m soaking it all in.

Our tree is decorated and our presents wrapped. Christmas breakfast and dinner are planned, and I’m reveling in this opportunity to kick back, relax, and enjoy a few days with family and friends.

Merry Christmas, one and all! Here’s to 2013 *clinks champagne glasses* Cheers!

Hooray!! I finished the first draft of Dragons’ Flight on Sunday. What a fabulous rush of pride and accomplishment!

Sneak Peak! Here’s the cover I’m contemplating:

Every writer’s process is different. My approach is to get the first draft out and clean it up later. I don’t revise as I work. In fact, I don’t even read back more than a few paragraphs to orient myself to the new day’s work. I simply push forward to “The End.” Consequently, when I finish my first draft, I need to read the entire novel to see whether or not it hangs together.

I’m in my cool-down phase at the moment. The few days rest between the writing and the reading. Can hardly wait to dive in and see if it’s a complete story, or if there are plot holes that desperately need to be filled, but I know that giving myself a few days will also give me the distance I need for proper perspective.

So…tomorrow or the next day I will print my draft and ready my highlighters and red pen for action. I’ll also read through Holly Lisle’s One Pass Manuscript Revision again. Her system fits my process perfectly, and I’m thrilled to have found such a concise guide to follow.

Dragons’ Flight is coming soon. There’s still a lot of process to explore before it’s ready for release (my editor’s input is a huge part *lol*), but it’s coming!!

WDM Publishing announced today that two of Deb Logan’s novels are now available in print.

The paperback editions of Faery Unexpected and Thunderbird are currently available through Amazon and Createspace, but can be ordered through your local bookstore. Please ask for them!

Faery Unexpected: Amazon | Createspace
Thunderbird: Amazon | Createspace

Way to go, Deb!!

WDM Publishing released my collection of Flash Fiction Romance tales today: LOVE IN A FLASH.

What is flash fiction, you ask? Flash fiction is often described as complete tales told in less than a thousand words. Each of these seven stories presents the wonder of budding romance in a concise package. Experience the thrill of discovery with LOVE IN A FLASH!

Check it out! Debbie Mumford’s most recent novella, HER HIGHLAND LAIRD, is now available at Smashwords, and will be coming to Amazon and Barnes & Noble soon!

HER HIGHLAND LAIRD
by Debbie Mumford
Audience: Romance: Scottish | Time-Travel | Medieval

Cat Logan, a young American with a recent degree in medieval literature, travels to Scotland to discover her roots. She finds more than she bargained for when a mysterious silver casket (rumored to hold the desiccated heart of a long dead Scottish laird) transports her back in time to the 1400s and the man whose heart she holds in her hands.

Note: This novella is intended for mature readers.

Electronic Edition Publication Date: July 2012
Buy Now: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Smashwords